


Nothing But A Title

by QuickSilverFox3



Series: Stucky AUs [1]
Category: Captain America
Genre: M/M, Modern Royalty AU, Will be rewritten and expanded later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:39:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5291207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who would have thought that having his arm blown off would have changed his life to this extent?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing But A Title

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I haven't written anything in months and this is mainly just to get me back into the swing of things. Hasn't been edited or anything and I'll wind up rewriting it to be longer and better later.

231: Modern Royalty AU  
It was still rather surreal, almost in a Princess Diaries kind of way. And he only had the vaguest recollection of that movie, blurred as the memories were with cheap smuggled alcohol and the warmth of Steve pressed against his side underneath the blanket as the movie stretched across the screen in front of them. Who would have thought that getting his arm blown off would have had this much impact on his life? 

Don't try to censor your thoughts, his therapist would tell him, face adorably scrunched into a frown as Bucky bit off another remark from dropping from his lips. They're yours to hold for you and only you unless you wish to share, he would continue, eyes warm and understanding, sharp contrast against the chill of the metal arm by Bucky's side, held away from him like a wild animal. 

Fine then. Bucky raised his head and met his gaze calmly in the mirror. Dark haunted eyes stared back at him, freed from their cover of heavy dark hair by glittering pins. I was captured and tortured for several months and then when I got back I was told I was royalty of this tiny country. And all this was discovered because of my arm which was sent back as proof.

"Please behave yourself tonight James," came the sigh from the door and Bucky dropped his gaze back to the wooden floor, covered as it was with heavy sheets of fabric, his own body almost unrecognizable in the neat suit, no longer nothing more than skin and bones.

The answer danced in the forefront of his mind: Why? Why should he behave when these people gave him nothing his enitre life? He had worked for everything he had ever owned, save that which was freely given and even then that hadn't been enough to save him from the bureaucracy's conscription.

We need you. A lie and mockery. His country hadn't needed him, Steve had needed him. And now Steve was gone and Bucky could no longer follow.  
However his grandmother (and wasn't that a strange thing) was not his therapist and she wasn't Steve, nor his mother and so he said nothing. 

"I don't really think it's protocol to invite your therapist as your plus one," Sam muttered to him, hiding the words behind a sip of the sparkling wine in a delicate flute glass. His hands were steady against Bucky's back as he trembled and shook, eyes constantly flashing from one side to another, analysing and evaluating.  
"Invited my friend," Bucky gasped out from behind clenched teeth. Was he dying? This was a different death to the one before, though he wasn't sure which one he preferred in the throes of the Reaper's grip as he was.

"Could we have some cold water please?"  
Where was he? Gone were the bright lights of the ballroom that stabbed at his eyes, gone were the whirling twirling guests with their soft clothes and non frightened eyes. Here was dark and cool, Sam was next to him, hand in his real one, warm and cold at the same time and someone else was holding a glass to his lips. 

Blearily Bucky blinked his eyes open, and saw an angel crouched down in front of him.  
"Steve?" he whispered causing the other man to almost drop the glass, Sam reflexively making a grab for it, over balancing them both as Bucky grabbed onto him with both arms.  
"Sam? Sam? He's my Bucky, Sam!"  
The man was babbling, unable to move his eyes from Bucky's face, white as it was and as haunted as he felt, Sam struggling to regain his footing on the shifting gravel as he made quiet grumbling noises to himself.  
"Okay. Steve breathe. Bucky you feeling a bit better?"

Bucky nodded slowly, mind reeling as he slowly sunk down to the floor, cold beneath the thin fabric though he paid it no mind, instead staring at the pair in front of him. One new love, and one he thought he'd never see again both together silhouetted underneath the bright full moon.   
"I thought you were dead," the man who looked like Steve, who was Steve said, staring at him with eyes as wide as Bucky's.  
"I'd hate to suggest this, but this isn't the place to have this conversation," Sam interjected calmly, facing each of them in turn, "How about we go back to mine?"

It was plastered all over the news the next day, headlines shrieking about how a Prince had eloped with a waiter and a therapist, but they didn't care. The words they had exchanged that night, the tears that had fallen down their cheeks were for them to know. And Bucky never much cared for his title anyway.


End file.
